


Ugly, Ugly, Beautiful

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deaf Kylo, Deaf Poe, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone lives, Fluff, Loss of Force Powers, M/M, Sign Language, Slow Burn, abelist language, redemption fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6768862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Re-Post--Failure.  It's a word that haunts them in all they do.  Hux makes a snap decision, and flees with the fallen Knight of Ren, to a remote planet where they must figure out where their futures lie--if there is one at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah so. This is my first time writing for the Star Wars fandom, though I've been trash for a while. I'm posting this part of the fic, but I'm not sure when I'm going to update cos I'm technically on a hiatus. I'm formerly LadyFaceElena (my account was hacked and deleted, but I was previously in the Harry Potter fandom--and attempting to retrieve my fics)
> 
> I'm currently in hospital and bored out of my mind, with dodgy wifi borrowed from the nurses so I hope this posts properly.
> 
> I expect this fic to be about two chapters, rating may increase, and there will, at some point, be a companion Finn/Poe piece.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr if you like, [angry-space-ravenclaw](http://angry-space-ravenclaw.tumblr.com/) though I won't be posting much until the end of May.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoy this, and look for part two at some point soon.

He wasn’t supposed to know him. In some outpost on Jakku, they were nameless villagers. Pointless villagers. They weren’t after _him_ , they were after Lor San Tekka. There was not supposed to be a resistance pilot on the planet. Or the droid.

It wasn’t supposed to be _that_ pilot.

Because had it been anyone else, Kylo Ren would have read him, and killed him. He would not have bothered with the finesse of dragging him aboard and putting him in _the chair_.

It was the way his mouth moved.

“Are you talking? Do you talk first?”

An accent. Ren could never read the words properly, but it was the accent. The eyes. The clenched hands that had what…? Once touched his…

_Poe Dameron, he’d known the name. He’d been amongst the others looking after him every time his mother left. He hadn’t seen his father in…he wasn’t sure the last time Han Solo had set foot on the planet. Not that it mattered. Luke was there._

_He’d always just taken the words from people’s heads, but that wasn’t good enough for Poe who understood. His mind feeding Ben, ‘I know what it’s like, no sound. I know. It’s called deaf on my home world and there are more than just you and me.’_

_Ben hadn’t known how to process that information. Truly, as he’d been seen as an anomaly. His ‘condition’ as the medi-droid told his mother when he was young enough to steal the words from her head, but not quite understand them, it had been cured so they didn’t know why they couldn’t with him._

_‘We don’t speak like you.’_

_‘I know.’ Ben’s small voice, the voice in his mind, projected into this future pilot and he blinked, and laughed, and clapped Ben on the shoulder because that had never happened to him before. Poe Dameron was better at it than Ben was, reading the lips of people, understanding them. Using a voice he’d never heard to make sounds he didn’t totally comprehend, and everyone else understood him. Not like Ben’s sounds. His perceived sounds._

_‘Do it like this…’_

_Poe’s hands helped curve Ben’s hands into shapes that suddenly made sense, but soon enough Poe was away and Ben was training and Snoke was in his head. And he didn’t want Ben using the words that had connected him to that world. The shapes of hands and fingers._

_He would erase it._

_As he erased Ben._

“I can’t understand you with the apparatus…” Poe probably sounded scared, but the words flashing across the visor panel of his mask never portrayed tone. He didn’t understand tone.

“Take him to the ship.” Ren’s mechanical voice commanded the troopers, and he could see the flickering green of the holo-words as Phasma approached and asked what should be done next. Ren’s mind wasn’t in it. He was lost in a pull of something that was supposed to be long-since gone. Something that should not have existed. Ben Solo was dead, he’d been stripped of him.

So why now?

‘Take off the mask.’ Like a mantra because now Poe was frightened. He couldn’t see Ren’s mouth, he didn’t have the ability to understand him. Ren was not projecting his voice into the Pilot now. No, because it frightened the Pilot, the inability to communicate, to know what was expected of him. And he expected torture. Ren didn’t need to probe further for that. He expected to hold out long enough for death.

He was hiding the map to Skywalker. 

“Take it off,” Poe said aloud.

‘No.’

The pilot froze, and Ren realised his mistake almost immediately because these long-dead memories reminded him Poe Dameron had only ever heard one voice—in his mind. The voice that Kylo Ren shared with Ben Solo because there was nothing to change that. No mask, no mechanics.

“Take it off.” The voice was a whisper, he knew, only because he was close enough to feel the Pilot’s startled breath.

No. Not Pilot. Poe Dameron. He struggled to released his hands, to show Ren the signs he’d taught him so long ago, but Ren would not give in. The temptation was strong, but he was stronger. He would not touch that world. He would not.

His hand hovered over the Pilot’s temple and he pushed. ‘Tell me where the map is.’

Poe was laughing. In his head. Aloud. He was laughing. “Ben Solo.”

‘Ben Solo is dead.’

Poe laughed again, and his eyes flickered to Ren’s other hand which had involuntarily made a sharp sign. One Poe recognised, because it had been his own name. It was just a flash, but something cracked and Ren was angry.

He pushed hard, violent, and he could feel the scream echoing on the inside of his skull as the information was ripped from Poe Dameron’s mind.

“It’s in a droid.”

Ren stood up, stepped back. He stared as the Pilot slumped forward, unconscious—or nearly. Not completely, because there were images flickering through his mind, assaulting Ren worse than anything Snoke or the Knights of Ren had ever done.

_’Good job.’_

_Ben beamed as his hands flickered through signs faster than he should have been able to. ‘Will my mother want to learn?’_

_Poe grinned, ruffling his hair. ‘You can show her. Go show her.’_

Ren pulled his saber out and flicked it on, dragging it along the walls with a smirk knowing it would make him feel better, and it would upset Hux when he was forced to assess cost-damage to the _Finalizer_. That small thing gave Ben—no. No.

NO!

His knees threatened to buckle as he turned to a console and began to bring the vicious blade down. The metal melted, a small, exposed patches of skin being seared and scarred, burnt, and he revelled in it. Pain brought him close to the Dark Side. Pain gave him the strength he needed because this could not happen again.

He could not disappoint his Master.

Could not disappoint his Grandfather.

This could not happen.

*** 

Everything ached, everything hurt, as it was supposed to, and yet as it was not. Arms had him, his head lolling to the side and he felt far too weak, too exposed without his mask. His inability to communicate without the Force and was too weak, too battered. Consciousness escaped him, as he was lifted onto…?

Something.

A speeder?

He had felt the explosion, smelt it, the acrid burning metal and flesh. Humans were dying. All over, he could feel them screaming, begging, and it was all ending. But they were speeding away toward…?

Escape.

A ship?

There was a warm hand moving his collar back? Ren flinched, trying to protect himself, but his eyes wouldn’t open and he couldn’t feel anything. He was drained, ripped apart, a failure. This must be Snoke’s ultimate revenge, because there was no saving him now. The Dark Side did not allow for redemption. 

He had been given his task, and with Han Solo’s hand on his cheek, he had failed. He’d lost his footing, and the place began to explode, and he’d gone. Snoke had wanted the girl, and instead he was receiving his broken Knight, face slashed open, arm ripped to shreds.

And deaf.

The word that bastard pilot had given him to describe himself.

His skin ached, violently. He wished for death as he was loaded onto the ship, onto a low bed and strapped in. He could feel the StarKiller beneath him decaying, collapsing in on itself. Everyone left on the surface would die. All of Hux’s troopers. All of his men. The First Order soldiers, whomever had not been able to escape.

Before the girl drained him, Kylo heard them fleeing and dying. In his chest, in his bones. They were screaming and begging, and he had one thought on his mind—it wasn’t this. It wasn’t this colossal failure.

Where was Hux? He reached out with his mind, but he kept coming up against a wall, leaving him unknowing—in total silence. Alone. He reached out for his Master, but there was emptiness in the place where he was once full, once always, _always_ watched.

The dull vibrations of the ship reaching hyperspeed, escaping the collapsing core of the planet-sized weapon—saving his life—lulled him into something akin to sleep. It was blackness, it was emptiness.

It was silence.

*** 

He woke with a cry ripping at his throat, the pressing silence on all sides as his eyes flared wide and scared. Scared, something he hadn’t been since he crushed the soul of Ben Solo into dust. The pain in his face, the pain in his shoulder, and his side where he’d been shot—it ripped at him. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t run. 

His eyes fixed suddenly on a firm, steely face, icy blue eyes staring him down even as cool metal was pressed against his neck. He felt the depression, the soft sting as something was injected into his body, and things became…

Less.

A sedative, something to dull the pain. He must have been screaming, he could feel the raw ache in his throat.

And then there was Hux. Ren didn’t know how the General was there, how he’d managed to find him.

 _Snoke_ , his mind supplied, but he pushed that away as the pressing absence of his Master was still there. He was nothing now. Nothing without him.

Hux was speaking to him. His full lips curving round words Ren had no hope of understanding. He reached out, begging the Force to be the one thing that had not abandoned him, but there was nothing there. He pushed, aching for the sounds in Hux’s head, but he was denied.

Ren wanted to tell Hux he couldn’t hear him, understood nothing, but his tongue felt too heavy, and the General was busy smearing something on his open wounds. A salve, something they used to patch up Storm Troopers in the field when their wounds weren’t fatal. He felt the sharp sting under the pain killer, and could almost feel his skin knitting together.

He had a sudden, mad idea to inject it into his veins. To see if it would repair the damage that girl had caused him. How had she robbed him of his powers? How had she bested him?

He came to with a gasp, a ripping sensation as his skin knit back together, scarring, burning. He let out a shout he could feel in his raw throat, and he sat up almost involuntarily, pressing forward hard against Hux’s hands. His eyes watered, then focused on the face staring at him. Hux was concerned, clearly. He’d only seen Ren’s face a few times, in the presence of Snoke’s holo, and no words were exchanged. He was being studied, like some specimen under glass, making him angry—but his anger wasn’t touching the Force now. He had been abandoned.

Hux was speaking again, and Ren felt irritation ripping through him as he reached up, clamping a hand over Hux’s shoulder and squeezing hard enough to silence the General. He swallowed, feeling like his throat was filled with razor blades, and forced his lips to go through the motions knowing full well he had no voice modulator to mask his natural sound.

“Stop speaking.” He felt the vibrations ripping against the tender skin, and he grimaced, swallowing. “I can’t understand you.”

Hux stared at him, his mouth forming a word that was shocked and slow enough for Ren to read. “What?”

Licking his lips, Ren glanced round and realised they were in an escape pod and no one was there. His secret would not be betrayed. He would ensure that the moment his powers returned. “I can’t understand you,” he repeated. Hux looked concerned at the sound of Ren’s voice. Did it sound as painful as it felt? “I can’t hear you.”

Hux let out a long string of words that could have very well been expletives, but Ren couldn’t be sure. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head until Hux stopped. “The Force. My mind.” Hux spoke the words very slow, very careful. Ren had seen them enough times on the lips of far too many to not know.

“I’m blocked. By…injury, I don’t know.”

Hux let out a visible sigh and backed up, hands on his thighs, pushing himself to standing. He was straight-backed, irritated, his eyes darting round until he came up with a datapad and he tapped in a series of codes. The holo mode activated, blasting a wiggling green line into the air.

“Testing.” The words appeared much like they had in Ren’s helmet, and he felt his gasp—Hux startling because he’d heard it. “What happened? You were wounded by a lightsabre, that much I can tell. But your ears…?”

Ren’s eyes flickered through the words floating in the air just above the datapad and he felt his heart constrict because this was his secret alone. Snoke, Ben’s parents, that bastard pilot. The bastard pilot who had somehow infected his mind and the memories were there, and it caused him to _hesitate_ when Han stood before him. He had one task. And Ben’s memories stopped him.

Ben had never even really loved him. Ben had been abandoned by him…so for it to matter…after all these years for it to matter…

He was ripped from his thoughts by a sharp tap on his shoulder, and his eyes narrowed. He was still in his cloak, but he felt naked somehow without the ability to hide his face and without the ability to keep his secret.

“My ears weren’t wounded.”

Hux’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, his arms crossing over his chest. He gave Ren a haughty, disbelieving look.

“I have been…it’s been…” Ren cleared his throat, painfully, wishing for water or something to soothe the ache. “I have always been. This way.”

Ren had been working on the _Finalizer_ , a representative—the sole and last—of the Knights of Ren, for several years. Had known Hux intimately having access to his mind. And never had he seen him actually startled.

But now, he stared, his mouth falling open a fraction, his cheeks pinking just along his upper cheeks. His gaze darted between Ren’s mouth, and his ears, then back to his mouth as he was putting it all together. His voice too-deep, the other Jedi children had told him—mocked him. His strange sound when he did choose to make words aloud. His voice too thick, unused outside of the modulator.

“I didn’t know.” It was Hux’s only statement, the words hanging in the air, and Ren wanted to smash the datapad and leave himself in total silence because this scrutiny was worse than anything he’d ever endured. 

Instead he shifted, wincing because his wounds though superficial, were healing slowly. He would be in no condition to fight—and surely Snoke would… “What were your orders?” Ren demanded.

Hux’s fingers twitched like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose. Instead he gripped his fingers into a fist so tight he was shaking. “Snoke is unhappy.” Ren flinched at the words hanging in the air. Snoke is unhappy. Of course he was. Ren had failed, but so had Hux. He had supposed to have fired on the Planets in the Republic. He’d hesitated the first time, and during his one chance to redeem himself, he’d lost the weapon.

They should have been killers together, jumping off that cliff, transforming into something far less than human. Now they were injured and alone—in silence—in the ship. In space. Disgraced and surely with a target on their backs because Snoke did not take failure well.

Ren could feel it before, Snoke’s interest in the girl. He would be replaced if he had to be. There were _others,_. 

There hadn’t been others before. And now…

Replaceable.

The word crept into his head the way bile crept up his throat and into his mouth. He could feel Hux’s gaze on him, and he couldn’t read him, not the way he should have been able to. The subtle nuances given to him by the Force were locked away somewhere—his punishment, he supposed, for giving in to the Light. It had never left him, as desperately as he’d tried to carve it out of his chest. It had been asleep, dormant, until the Pilot.

The Pilot.

His fingers curled into his palms, fingernails biting into his flesh with the desire to summon his sabre and rip the Pilot in half. How dare he? How dare he do this?

Failure…

He glanced at Hux again and wondered if the orders had been to deliver him, or murder him. Either way, he wouldn’t live to see a sunrise on another planet.

“Are you going to answer me?” he finally chanced.

Hux glanced away, and Ren wanted to bark at what terrible manners it was, as he _needed_ that eye contact because he couldn’t _hear_ the tones which Hux would use. Instead he was forced to glance up at the scrolling text as the General spoke. “I’ve been ordered to bring you in to Snoke, and to turn myself in to the Republic.”

Ren couldn’t help his abject shock. “The Republic?” The words felt thick and heavy on his tongue, and he could tell his tone was startling to the General. “For execution?”

“Likely.”

“Their death toll is far higher than ours,” Ren snapped, feeling a strange, bubbling sensation in his gut, something he’d never been able to read. A strange compulsion Snoke had attempted to erase, but that was _his_ failure.

“Each one of those on the planet they viewed as murderers. Potentially capable of Genocide. I could not do it, but others can.” The words scrolled as blandly through the air as they tumbled from Hux’s lips, and the redhead let out another, very visible sigh. “He wants my arrest to distract from the First Order recuperating.”

“No.”

Hux looked back at Ren, finally, a laugh startled from him and shaking his shoulders in a way Ren had never seen before. He lifted just one eyebrow, an elegant gesture showing his cultured breeding. He had been no farm-boy. No Resistance General’s son. No child of a space pirate, a con artist. He had not spent his childhood running from life’s luxuries. No matter how brutal the Academy had been.

Ren realised he didn’t even know Hux’s first name. He also realised he didn’t much care. Likely he wouldn’t be able to pronounce it anyway, and he was in no mood for Hux to look at him like he was a fool—though considering the circumstances and his hesitations…

“How much fuel is on this ship?” Ren shifted forward again, feeling his movements aggravating his wounds, but he didn’t care. He shifted toward the end of the bed, and put his feet on the floor. He was grateful most of his uniform was intact, just the open wound from the blaster, and from the sabre.

Hux grabbed the datapad, pushing numbers, the words disappearing. Ren wondered if he touched Hux’s throat, would there be the vibrations of absent humming, like his mother had done when he was little. Upset, having not seen her for weeks at a time, she would hold him and sing ancient songs of Alderaan and before he could sneak into her head, he would press the side of his chubby hand to her throat and feel them.

He shoved away the memory, the strange compulsion to touch the General. What the hell was wrong with him?

Though he suspected it had everything to do with his lack of Force, and his now dependency on other senses he had let go…stale. Perhaps this had been Snoke’s plan all along. To force him to be dependent on the Force, with the ability to take it away, and the signs in his fingers, and his ability to read mouths—what little of it he’d been capable of—atrophied. 

Dependent. 

The very thought made him angry enough that his hands began to shake. Thankfully Hux was too busy checking the stats of their ship to notice, and by the time he lifted his head to relay the information, Ren had calmed again. Barely, but he was in control.

“Enough to get us to one of the Outer Rim planets. Arkanis Sector, probably. Tatooine or…”

“No,” Ren said, and felt the vicious desire to avoid anything to do with Luke. He looked away from the word hovering in the air. 

Hux blinked, giving a small frown. “Khubeaie is our next option.”

Ren blinked at him. “What do you mean our next option. Are you defying the Supreme Leader?”

“Aren’t you?” When Ren gave him a lifted chin, a defiant scoff, Hux laughed again and looked almost…boyish. “I want to live, Ren. I pledged my allegiance to the Order, not to Snoke. And I will not be sacrificed, I will not be a scape goat. I am above that.”

Ren stared, saying nothing. 

“If you wish to sacrifice yourself to him, I will take you somewhere and you can call for him or whatever it is you Jedi do…”

“I am not a Jedi,” Ren hissed.

Hux pursed his lips as he regarded him. “I have no plans to die for you, either.”

“I had no idea you were a coward, General,” Ren said, and finally eased himself up. He wavered, his strength greatly depleted, and he knew he would need to eat soon, to refuel. The trappings of his human body made worse by the absence of the Force. How had it happened? Was it the girl? Or had it truly been the cruellest punishment of all?

“You do not understand the meaning, Kylo. Clearly.”

They stared off, unable to tear their gazes away from each other. Then, with the barest sigh, the decision was made and Hux gave a curt nod, excusing himself to the cockpit. Ren felt his knees give way, and he was more grateful than not he could collapse back on the bed without an audience. He had been made to feel weak far too many times in recent days. He was in no hurry for the cold General to see him give in.

*** 

Hux glanced back into the makeshift med-bay and stared at the unconscious Knight. He hadn’t moved since Hux excused himself to the cockpit, and for that he was grateful. He needed to _think_ and he couldn’t do that with Kylo’s temper flaring—and Hux knew that lacking force and his sabre didn’t make him less dangerous. It was only a matter of time before Ren figured it out.

Scrubbing his hand down his face, Hux made a mental list of the things he needed to deal with. The first and foremost was defecting from the First Order. He would he hunted—he and Ren both. By Snoke and the Order, and the Republic with the Resistance at its side. There were only so many places they could hide, and for so long.

The second was Ren agreeing to come along. Hux had been certain the Knight would immediately demand to be taken to the Supreme Leader—and it was apparent from his face he was no longer connected to his Phantom God. There had always been a level of mistrust when it came to the Supreme Leader, and Hux had been all too glad to detach his loyalty. He was a General, well trained and fierce, but he valued himself above all other things. Something he’d gotten from his mother—and had been cultivated by his father.

The third thing, which was all-consuming now because it had been unexpected, unplanned, had been Ren’s revelation about his hearing. Hux had never heard of a person without the ability to hear. Some children, he supposed, had been born with damage to various senses, but it had always been corrected at birth. None had made it into the Academy. And how had Ren gone so long without anyone noticing.

Hux now understood the calculated mask—something he believed was hero-worship of the failed ex-Jedi, Darth Vader. Little had Hux known it was to conceal something that critical. He assumed Ren relied on far more than the force for communication—likely data feeds translating verbal commands. It was clear he could not read lips—not well, and on the _Finalizer_ too many wore the masks so there was no point in relying on that sort of ability—if there was something like that. Hux was deeply unprepared to know what Ren might need should he agree to stay.

Hux found himself regretting making the offer. He could have pretended to have orders from Snoke. He could have left this stroping child on some distant planet and let the Republic hunt him for a few years.

He wasn’t sure what it was about Ren though, that made him agree. Perhaps the sudden vulnerability because what he relied on for communication had been ripped away from him, and he’d been abandoned by the Supreme Leader. That much was clear. The sound of Snoke’s disappointment when ordering Hux to fetch Ren and bring him in—that was something the General would not soon forget.

Very little could terrify him to his very bones, but Snoke had always been capable of it.

Hux hadn’t seen where Ren had failed, where he’d let Han Solo flee instead of halving him with that bloody sabre, but he hadn’t needed to. The disappointment was just as great as Hux’s. Failing to launch his weapon had proven nothing more than Hux had a weakness.

He had hesitated. He had hesitated—not doubting himself, but doubting his actions—doubting the First Order. He hadn’t spoken a word of it, but there had been something awakened in Hux years back, and it had never left him. When he hesitated, the Resistance swept in and destroyed everything.

It was on his shoulders, and he knew a fitting punishment was to let the Republic try, sentence, and execute him.

And yet. Here he was.

Sitting back in the chair, Hux ran his hands over his face and went through a mental inventory of what they had on the ship. Enough supplies to last to Khubeaie, and perhaps a few days until they found appropriate shelter. At first he thought perhaps he could rely on Ren’s ability to manipulate the force, and manipulate the minds of others, but clearly he had lost that. He was helpless now.

Hux found himself glancing back. It was strange to see him with his helmet off, knowing he couldn’t hide under it. This was Kylo Ren—Hux had never bothered to learn his proper name, only now that Solo was his father—but this was Kylo Ren stripped bare, left vulnerable and alone. Something Hux hadn’t, before this point, believed would be possible.

What did it mean? And how could Hux use it to his advantage because from what he could see from here—there was no advantage. It would be having a murderous, far too intelligent child with no control over his emotions.

He glanced back once more, and stared at Ren’s profile. He looked…human, in a way he never did aboard the _Finalizer_. Not vulnerable, just…existing, in his own skin as humans did. Even the Storm Troopers had been far more human to Hux than Ren had been in the past few years. But now…

He sighed and looked away, desperate to comfort himself with a cup of tea and a task. Something beyond navigating Light Speed space toward a planet which could prove to be far too hostile. They weren’t being tracked, he knew that much—unless Snoke was still in Ren’s head, but he doubted that. It meant they would have some time before his image was blasted amongst the systems and he could no longer hide.

Ren, on the other hand, was gifted some anonymity as most believed the Knights of Ren had been wiped out, and for all that Ren had liked to destroy, he hadn’t gotten his hands dirty often.

It wouldn’t save them, though. If the Resistance wanted Ren, Solo would have the ability to blast his face to every known quadrant. So it was just a waiting game.

Hux startled from his seat when his passenger woke with a scream. He found himself rushing from the cockpit, toward the bed, his hands reaching for a sedative before he was even thinking about it. As he reached for the injector, Ren’s long fingers closed tight round his wrist, tugging him away. His head was shaking, a distressed noise in the back of his throat.

Hux could tell the Knight was in pain, but he acquiesced to the silent request, and set the injector down. When Hux’s fingers pulled away, Ren relaxed back against the pillow and pressed two fingers to his temple, like he was trying to reach something with his mind.

Watching carefully, the General could see the disappointment play out on his face. He was unused to seeing the Knight expressive—the lack of helmet was almost disarming in a way. Hux had to wonder if he’d learnt it from needing to read expression as he couldn’t read tone.

The datapad was back in the cockpit, so Hux carefully tapped Ren on the shoulder, then tapped his pinched fingers to his mouth to mimic putting food in. Ren licked his lips, then gave a curt, sharp nod. Pleased to have a task at hand, Hux was more than happy to pull away from the other man, and he went to their supplies.

All of it was dehydrated, none would be pleasant, but there were dried soups and water which could be heated by the mechanism in the packaging. With Ren’s injuries, it was safest, and he watched with mild interest as the water came to an almost immediate boil. He poured it into the cup, watching powder turn into noodles and veg, some dubious looking meat. The broth smelt pleasant enough, however, and he added water to his own before making his way back to his injured passenger.

Handing it off, Ren gave a grunt of what Hux assumed was a sort of thanks, and brought the cup to his mouth. He winced at the heat, but when Hux was satisfied he could manage it, he went back for the datapad, then walked into the room. For lack of seating, he settled on the edge of the bed, letting the translator programme fire up, and he made sure Ren had a decent angle.

“We should reach the system in a few hours. I’m not sure where to go, and I don’t suppose your powers have come back so you can scan the planet?”

Ren licked his lips, making that face again he’d made before—clearly uncomfortable with speaking without his modulator—and he cleared his throat. “I know enough about the planet. It was Hutt-occupied for a period of time, but it’s become a scavenger hide-out and we should be able to find shelter. The climate is more rain than sun, which will serve us better I think.”

Hux gave a sharp nod, then sipped on the broth. It was nowhere near what he was accustomed to, but it would do. He would be giving up his fine tastes in things—that much he knew, and it was a worthy sacrifice for this borrowed time.

“I suppose there’s no chance of your…mind trick,” he wriggled the fingers of his free hand by his temple, feeling like an idiot. He’d never bought into the mysticism of the Jedi, or the Dark Side—whatever it was Ren called it, but he’d seen enough to know Ren had…something. Something Hux shouldn’t mock him for.

“Not presently. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be bothering with this.” He nodded his head at the floating letters in the air.

Hux gave another curt nod, and they finished up their meal without conversation. When it was clear Ren had nothing to add or offer, Hux did a perfunctory check of his injuries, finding the wounds healing slowly, but well. Hux had never seen Ren after a battle, but he assumed that some level of the Force allowed him to heal faster, as he’d never been out of commission, no matter what the cost had been for the troops.

Just as Hux started to rise, Ren let out a startled noise again, and grabbed at him suddenly. Hux felt the long fingers hook in the sleeve of his coat, and he turned, lifting a curious brow.

“You need to sleep.”

Hux blinked at the Knight, his head shaking just a little. “No, I’m fine.”

“You’ll be no good to us if we need to defend ourselves and you’re collapsing from lack of rest.” Ren shoved himself to the edge of the bed, grimacing a little, but he rose on his own and stood, straight-backed and determined. He gave the bed a sharp look, then drifted his eyes back to Hux.

It was clear the Knight was determined, and in a strange way Hux felt a desire in the space behind his ribs, to let go. To give up control for a little while because he _was_ exhausted, and he was lost. He had no idea what to do beyond the immediate, and he didn’t function well that way. It was not in his nature to take things as they came.

Ren could clearly see Hux’s acquiescing, and he stepped back, watching carefully as the General lowered himself to the bed. It was awkward, laying his head where Ren had been before. He could smell him on the pillow, and it was a strange comfort. It created a compulsion—a desire to turn his face into the pillow and bury himself in the scent.

Human companionship.

Human contact.

Not alone.

Hux reminded himself that was the only reason he wanted this—because to be alone was likely more of a death sentence, even with an ex Knight on the run from a maniac with powers that could reach across the Known Universe. He felt Ren’s eyes on him as he rolled away, knowing that turning away would cut off any chance of communication.

There was a long pause, then the sound of Ren’s boots as he walked away. Hux could tell from the gait, Ren still had a slight limp, but he made no sounds of protest as the cockpit doors slid shut.

*** 

Ren watched as the planet came into view. It had been hours, and Hux hadn’t moved from the bed. Even without the Force, Ren had been able to feel the exhaustion emanating off the General. He had expected a longer protest, even a fight. Part of him craved it, part of him wanted it to come to blows. But the General was beaten, as Ren was. And perhaps he wanted this, he wanted Ren taking some sort of control.

It awakened in him a sense of desire, in a way. To be needed like this. Hux would depend on him, on his skill because the General had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He wouldn’t last more than a day on a scavenger planet.

Grabbing the datapad, Ren pulled up the stats on the planet. It was habitable, it would be easy to survive—for a while at least, in the ship. There was wilderness, used for hunting and trading. Several villages dispersed outside of the larger cities. The weather was mostly rain, a few areas of frozen tundra, but nowhere near where they would be landing.

It was not ideal, but it would do until they could come up with a better plan.

Ren input landing coordinates, then sat back and put up the shields. It would be forty-five minutes before they could land, which would give him enough time to meditate. The thought frightened him. Snoke frightened him.

_Master, why have you abandoned me? Was I truly that much of a failure? Is there no coming back from this?_

He wished he’d been able to feel his grandfather, but Ren was no fool. He knew the difference between truly feeling the Dark Side, and fantasy, and any time Vader had whispered into his head, it had been the latter. Snoke had given him the images of Vader rising from his near-death at the hands of his Master. Showing him what the Dark Side could do, the power it could wield.

Any time he’d brought Vader up to his parents, they turned away. Luke refused to speak of him. The name Anakin had been whispered round and Ren had picked it up on thought patterns, but he knew so little. And now he was completely alone.

Taking a breath, he felt it fill his lungs, and he stretched his mind. The Force was in everything, and although he could sense where it was, there was an invisible wall between him and the power. Maybe it was of his own making, maybe he was punishing himself for his weakness.

 _Is it weakness, or is it strength?_ A voice that carried a suspicious weight, too much like Ben’s mother.

His palms curled into fists as he violently shoved that thought away. Failing to follow orders, to embrace the Dark Side, to rid himself of his connection to Ben—that was not strength. He would not be foolish enough to believe in something like that. There was no redemption for what he had become.

Vader had none. He died a battered, broken human, giving into the weakness, the Light Side that always plagued him. Ren had been so determined not to suffer that same fate…

And now look at him.

He felt rage boiling in him, and something akin to laughter escaping his lips, bubbling off his tongue, ripping out of his throat. His fists began to bash against the control console and his vision went white as he ached, _craved_ the pain of the metal biting into his flesh.

He stopped only when a rough hand curled round his wrist, and he was shoved back. Hux’s eyes were on him, lips curving into words Ren didn’t understand, but didn’t need to. Kylo Ren, the _child_ who could not control his temper tantrums.

Crylo Ren, he’d been mocked when he was younger, because his emotions had taken over one too many times—but he revelled in the deaths of those who had implied he was not strong enough. He had been the only one to survive, after all.

His eyes looked up, furious, a thin sheen of sweat across his brow. Hux had stopped speaking, realising it was pointless, and he was now assessing the damage. Nothing that would prevent their landing. They were approaching the atmosphere, and within minutes the ship lost momentary power as it was taken in through the planet’s gravitational pull. Hux regained control of the ship the moment they were safely inside the atmosphere, and steadied it. He checked the coordinates Ren had put in, then gave a nod as if satisfied.

Again Ren felt aching frustration that he could not slip into Hux’s head, to see what he was thinking, to feel it instead of guessing. The General’s face was far too impassive, cut off, and whilst Ren knew it was part of his training, if they were to make this work—if Ren was not to get his powers back, the General would have to learn.

Ren would not rely on datapad translations and guesswork.

Much like Hux, Ren wanted to survive. Not so much because he loved himself—but because he wanted so much to spite those who didn’t believe he would.

The landing was rocky, but Hux managed to navigate the ship into a thicket, a canopy of trees, half taken down by the wings, but they were covered. They scanned the area for life, only drawing up animals which meant Ren could hunt for meat when they needed it. They would assess the situations at nearby villages later. Steal if they had to—as a child Ren had attempted to master the art of pickpocketing merely to see if he really was only strong because of his powers.

It had been far too many years, but he was confident in his skill, and his desire to survive.

The moment the ship was off, Hux opened the landing doors and Ren felt the heavy, almost oppressive wave of humidity. It wasn’t hot, but the air was difficult to breathe in. He could see the green of trees just beyond the misty terrain, and the ground looked difficult to navigate on foot. It would be ideal hunting ground, however, and the thought of being on planet, having a sun setting and rising, finding some sense of normalcy until he could…

What?

Was this an actual escape?

He nearly laughed at the absurdity of the thought. He had defected from the First Order, from Snoke. There was no going back to Ben’s family—Ben was dead and he might have spared Solo but he was no hero. Would he live here in exile?

His drive for power would prevent him from finding that sort of peace, wouldn’t it?

Ren realised his hands were shaking, made worse when he felt Hux approach. The General’s footfalls were heavier than normal, and Ren couldn’t help but wonder if it was deliberate now that he knew Ren relied on feeling rather than sound. It cause a strange…something.

Feeling?

Ren was too unfamiliar with trying to understand human emotions after so long trying to distance himself from them. Even training as a Jedi left him celibate, detached, and alone.

It was ugly. So ugly it was beautiful in a way. At least, Luke had attempted to describe it that way, though now Ren merely felt like a walking corpse. A shell of what he would have been as Kylo Ren—or even as Ben Solo.

Without the datapad, Hux’s communications were stilted to small gestures and wide, curving lips which Ren couldn’t understand mostly because he wasn’t sure what Hux wanted to say. He couldn’t gauge his thought process, so his mouth movements meant nothing to him. He let out a frustrated growl, then stepped away.

“I’m going to survey the terrain and make sure we’re safe for the moment. Cut off communications and trackers if you can. I’ll return and we can attempt to make something of…of…” He waved his hand at the ship. “This.”

Hux’s face went still, blank, his eyes the only thing betraying that calm expression. Hux was afraid, and confused, and just as lost as Ren.

So what a pair they made.

As his boots sank into the muck, Ren almost laughed. Never in a million years, surveying a hundred future paths, did he envision this. Defecting with that man, onto a remote planet no one in the Known Universe cared about.

And, the final absurd thought, which actually did have him clutching his aching side: He knew above all things, his mother would come looking for him, and more than Snoke—he feared her.

*** 

It was a ridiculous fear, one he shouldn’t entertain, but the moment Ren walked into the mist, Hux was nearly taken down by the thought—Kylo Ren might not return. Hux may be left on this desolate planet and with what? His own devices would fail him presently. He was too-fast a learner, but without even the most basic tutor, he would wither and die.

And that was unacceptable.

Perhaps living in the wilderness like this was also unacceptable, but he had no real time to weigh his options. He refused to bow to Snoke’s orders. He would not be a lamb given over to slaughter. He had been raised with far too much pride and self-preservation.

But where did that self-preservation end? Would he be content to live like this? Like a scavenger?

Hux damn well knew he would not be satisfied with a paltry existence. He wasn’t afraid to die, but not before going out in a blaze of glory. Had the Starkiller consumed him as it did so many when the Resistance managed to collapse the core, he would have welcomed death with open arms. But to turn himself over, to be enslaved and let others vote upon his fate?

This was nothing more than a slow death, truly. This…this waiting.

Perhaps he would disobey Ren’s orders. Leave communicators open, make them vulnerable to tracking. Surely his own men, once carefully cultivated, raised, trained, _conditioned_ , would arrive to point their blasters and end his life. They would ask for his surrender and he would not give it.

That was how he was meant to die.

Lifting his chin, he found his hands wandering to the control panel, and he flicked all the buttons, watching all but basic life support fade into nothingness. They were alone. No one was coming for a rescue, and no one was coming for an execution.

Not now.

He wandered through the ship, feeling aimless, trapped, suffocating at the thought this could be his home. Such a place?

He was not unfamiliar living on a ship, but with only Kylo Ren as his company—as his teacher…

Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed against it. He needed an objective, though he couldn’t think far enough. Perhaps in the future another faction would rise up—they would attempt to take over the Resistance, or perhaps the Republic. Perhaps a faction would overthrow the First Order, and then Hux could make himself known. He would use his reputation to claw his way to the top. Shameless and needy, it didn’t matter.

He only had to wait it out.

Drawing his fingers back through his hair, he felt it give way to the humidity, falling over his ears and forehead. He couldn’t think how unkempt he must look. His clothes smelt of blood and flames, though they were intact, but he was desperate for a proper bath. He did not like being in disarray, not like this, but then he found himself laughing when he remembered he had no one at all to impress. It was just this—empty space, forest, scavengers, and the fallen Knight.

Instead of wallowing any further, he checked their supplies fully. Enough food for a month at best, if they were careful with rations. They had a catch mechanism for water, and the filtration system was solar powered, so they should never want for water—not on a planet when the atmosphere was mostly that. 

Ren seemed over-confident about his abilities to provide food and basic necessities—though Hux had to wonder how much the Knight relied on his powers, and he had yet to ask. But for now, Hux had no other options but to trust him.

Should Ren not return—well he would deal with that as it came.

He checked the stock for linens—they had the one bed, but they could make do he supposed, with the floor and other devices. Sleep was the least of his concerns presently. There were a few items of clothing, mostly for First Order Officers, but the insignia could be easily removed, and with small alterations they could wander into a village undetected as such.

Weapons—the ship was stocked with basics. Blasters, a few canons, and some small explosives. For now they would remain unarmed, unless it was necessary.

He found the Refresher quickly, surprised at the size of it. A proper bath was in the corner, and he had to wonder who had commissioned this ship. It had been the first available, and he had never bothered with trivial matters beyond a sanistream shower in his own. Mitika, probably, he mused as he tested the taps. There were enough options to make him momentarily relieved that he would not be giving up all luxury.

He became overwhelmed by the smell of the former battle, and decided if Ren was going to tromp through the woods, he would at least allow himself a shower. He rummaged through the supplies, taking the closest fitting uniform he could. The trousers were too loose, though the patches gave way and if he tucked the cuffs into his boots and wore the tunic without the jacket, he would be more likely undetected by others.

Placing them on the counter, he turned on the water, relishing in using actual water rather than sonic. It was too hot, his skin turning instantly pink, but it was necessary. The slight sting of it kept his head about him. He held his hand out, soap dispensed, and he scrubbed flecks of blood from his knuckles, his neck, and torso where Ren’s wounds had managed to get through his clothing.

Ren.

He hadn’t wanted to think about him now. He needed some respite from the Knight. And yet, his thoughts seemed far too consumed by him. How were they going to communicate? Without his helmet, Ren seemed confused, lost.

Hux couldn’t help but wonder how he’d done it long before he had the tech. Had there been some type of communication with gestures or…?

He cursed himself for not knowing nearly enough history.

He winced, realising he was scrubbing at his scalp far too hard, and he shoved his head under the water, letting it pour over the back of his neck, then over his face. He didn’t feel clean, but he felt better, which was something. Nothing akin to the powerful man he’d once been, but right now being human was enough.

Flicking the water off, he turned on the dry option, for lack of proper towels, and allowed the blast to ruffle his hair. He didn’t have product, or a comb, so he fiddled with his locks, unable to make them stay but they were detangled and they would do.

Just as he turned, Hux let out an undignified yelp when he came face to face with the Knight.

Ren was still, absurdly, wearing his torn clothes. He was covered in another layer of muck, along with a thin sheen of fog from the outside. He looked startled to see Hux there, a tinge of pink to his cheeks as he hurriedly looked away.

“I’m sorry, I was unaware the shower was on.”

Hux was unable to answer, and he felt angry that Ren couldn’t hear it—as ridiculous as it was. How could he blame the man for being born without this sense—though he could blame his parents for not correcting it. It must have been an option so why…?

As Hux reached for the clothes, in a hurry to retain some of his dignity, he saw Ren’s boots were covered in a fresh layer of blood. Fearful Ren had gotten into a skirmish, or had aggravated his wounds—really he had no skill with combatting infection—he struggled to get the tunic over his head before he took Ren’s shoulder and spun him.

His mouth opened, and half a word got out before he realised how pointless that was. Instead he pointed sharply at the blood now pooling on the floor. Ren’s eyes flickered downward, then up at Hux’s face with some confusion.

Not able to think of anything else, Hux reached out with a hesitant hand, and placed it over the spot Ren had been shot. Ren flinched out of his grasp, but then shook his head.

“I’m not injured. I found a few Nightscowls. They’ve been slaughtered and drained. I can cook them later tonight.”

Hux’s face pulled in disgust. He’d never bothered to get his hands dirty, and had never bothered to think where his meat might have come from, but Ren seemed to have no problem with it. Hux had to suppose it was better than eating rehydrated things from the ship—they could save those for emergencies. But it was comical, in a way, to think that Ren would know how to do something like that.

He supposed at one point Ren had a father—Han Solo seemed just the type to teach his boy to hunt and cook and other things Hux had always considered beneath him. He supposed the General Organa was much the same. A princess in her own right, but had never been viewed as such. Hux had at least studied her own history—and recalled it now with vivid accuracy once he realised Kylo Ren was the product of the well known Resistance fighter and Pilot.

Realising they had been staring at each other for too long, and that Ren’s gaze was lingering on the clothes which took something away from Hux’s imposing air, he stepped back and cleared his throat. He pointed to Ren, then to the shower.

Ren gave a stiff, curt nod, then frowned as Hux didn’t budge.

“I do not require assistance to clean myself.”

“I need to check your wounds, you child,” Hux muttered. It was clear Ren didn’t understand him, so he took a step forward and with a careful hand, prod at the gash across the Knight’s face. Ren flinched, but seemed to realise what Hux was getting at, and allowed him to continue the examination.

It was a bit ridiculous. Hux had no idea what he was doing and only hoped if something truly was wrong, he’d be able to see it. A terrible smell, hot to the touch, severe pain. Things he’d been warned about at the Academy when they’d been injured in battle simulations.

Ren didn’t seem to fall prey to any of these things, or so Hux hoped.

He carefully unbuttoned Ren’s shirt, and shifted it off the wound. It was healing just as well, with the bacta ointment, though a bit uglier than the one on his face. It would scar—each wound would scar, but Hux didn’t think Ren was vain enough to care. Perhaps, in a way, the Knight would wear them as badges of…perhaps not honour, but survival.

Hux had his own, internally, and that was enough for him.

When he was satisfied, he stepped back and swiped his hands down the dark trousers. He nodded at Ren, then hurried out of the Refresher to give the Knight privacy. They would need to work on some sort of communication however, for the miming was making him feel foolish and he knew there had to be a better way. Ren had to know a better way.

If only to save their arses should the need arise.

And he was certain it would.

*** 

Hux swore if he had to eat another bite of this…animal, he couldn’t recall the name, he would go mad. The taste was bitter and gamey, the blood in high doses toxic to humans, though Ren seemed adept in preparing the meal so it increased their protein intake and prevented any stomach ills. But where the taste of fresh meat and root vegetables Ren had managed to scrounge up from the forest floor had been a blessing, it now felt like a curse a week and a half in.

They’d made what was left into a sort of stew, thickened by dehydrated mash from one of the ship’s food packages, and he found himself aching for one of the plain meals served to him on the _Finalizer_. 

In a way, he found it ironic he only missed the subtle routines of commanding a ship for the First Order. It was not his job, it was not his purpose, it was not his devotion to the Order itself, but the things which kept his life full of meaning. The Trooper programme had been a pet project of his, taken over of course, and yet he prided himself in creating men out of the children put aboard.

FN-2187 had been such a source of pride.

Something about him had always captured Hux’s attention, as he had Phasma. It was no surprise, really, that FN-2187 had been the one to escape. Hux had seen something in him, a passion most Troopers didn’t possess, and loyalties like that were too fierce. He was too sharp, felt too much.

The connection to the Pilot who had escaped, the Pilot Hux still couldn’t believe Ren had brought onto the ship, was instantaneous. Hux had gone over security footage and he’d seen something in the Pilot’s eyes as the pair escaped. A companionship forged in moments.

It was in a similar vein, the way the Pilot had looked at Ren during his interrogation—a sort of recognition, only with Ren, it had been more personal. Hux was certain of it.

He scooped a mouthful of the stew into his mouth and crushed a soft root vegetable into mash between his teeth. The flavours of this reminded him something of his homeworld—a place he’d only spent a short time in, but had not failed in leaving a lasting impression. Images of his mother and father, during a time his father had not been so dedicated, flashed through his mind. They were like someone else’s memories, however, and he wondered if Kylo Ren felt the same when he thought about who he had been before Snoke.

Not that it mattered.

Right now, Hux was mentally reviewing all the things that had occurred before Starkiller had fallen, and he had been sent as a martyr for an Order he no longer cared about. He nearly laughed at himself, but he could feel Ren’s eyes on him, and he barely managed to restrain it.

Glancing up at the Knight, Hux took a breath, and reached for the datapad. Ren flinched, clearly wanting the silence, but Hux was done sitting in it. He wanted to hear the lilt of Ren’s accent, fill up the quiet spaces, and he wanted to be understood.

“I want to know about that Pilot. Poe Dameron.”

Hux didn’t miss the flinch in Ben’s face now. A look of irritation, closed-off and confused. He could nearly read the words from Ren’s face. ‘Why are you asking me this now?’ The Knight finished several bites of soup before he deigned to answer. “What about him?”

“You knew him.”

Ren’s dark eyes flickered up at the words hanging in the air, and his jaw clenched. Hux couldn’t imagine what it would be like to rely on such a thing, though he now suspected Ren’s helmet was what he used to read communications, rather than solely relying on the Force. Especially if the Force was, as he’d seen, fallible.

“Briefly, I knew him,” Ren said, his tone dead as usual, but his face showed his weariness. “His mother worked with…General Organa.” Hux watched as Ren’s mouth slipped over the words, like perhaps he wanted to call her mother, but stopped himself. “When I was a child, I trained with Luke Skywalker—before his Jedi initiative and Po—er. The Pilot. He was there sometimes.”

“It’s more than that,” Hux pressed, thinking of the look on the Pilot’s face. He sifted through the memories, trying to remember things he’d noticed. Subtle nuances. A flicker of the fingers, maybe. Something that had tripped Ren up.

“Why is this important to you?”

“Because I’m confused how it all fell apart. Because I’m bored,” Hux said, slapping the table. The vibration made Ren startle, but other than that, he had no reaction. “I don’t understand how we came to be here, and what made you…”

“Fail,” Ren offered.

Hux blinked. “Change,” he offered, though that wasn’t the right word. What Ren had experienced was not a failure, but it was not a chance, precisely. It wasn’t something different, it wasn’t something broken. But Hux didn’t have the language for it. “Did you have the Force when you were a child?”

“Yes,” Ren said simply. “From birth, though it became more apparent as it was…” He hesitated and thumbed the edge of his bowl, then stirred the stew in an anti-clockwise direction. “Necessary.”

Hux frowned. “Necessary.”

“Failure to communicate effectively,” Ren said, his voice having gone tight with a dry throat. He cleared it, sipped on some of the bitter caf Hux had taken the trouble of making. “I was born deaf, though my mother’s people hadn’t been made aware of something like that. There was no word for it. Children like me were nearly unheard of. One of the medi-droids had information of children on a planet in a nearby galaxy who were given implants. My parents took me there.”

“You remember this?”

Ren scoffed at the interruption, but shook his head. “I was an infant. I got this from memories, things my mother had trouble hiding from me as my powers grew.” He set his spoon down and clasped his hands. Hux had taken notice that lately Ren’s fingers wandered, shaped into…a pattern, he supposed, but Ren stopped himself before Hux could try and decipher it. He wondered if it was a nervous habit, but hadn’t bothered to ask. “The medics couldn’t do anything for me. Whatever I was lacking,” he brushed the backs of his knuckles on his left hand across his ear almost absently, “they couldn’t repair it. They were devastated but did the best they could. Luke believed with the Force, I wouldn’t lack in communication. He was not wrong.”

Hux had been on the receiving end of Ren’s mind once or twice, a heavy voice in his head sounding too much like his modulator in the mask. He didn’t doubt the moment Ren realised he could put his thoughts into other people, and draw theirs out, he would use it.

“I was already training with Skywalker when I met the Pilot,” Ren said. He glanced up at the hovering green lines to see if Hux had contributed anything, but they were blank. “He came from a world were many people were like him.” Now Ren lifted his gaze to meet Hux’s eyes, almost defiant in a way. “Like me.”

“He’s…” Hux hadn’t known, hadn’t bothered to know. He had the basic stats on the Resistance Pilot. He was top in their ranks, promoted after the battle on Starkiller Base, and there was a bounty on his head. “Like you,” he finished lamely, far too long after he’d first spoken.

Ren lifted an eyebrow at him, daring him to challenge the information, but Hux said nothing. “It was unfamiliar to me, and I resisted his attempts to communicate his way.”

“What way?” Hux blurted.

Ren’s face went pinched, annoyed. “They have a language of gestures, spoken with the body. Mostly the hands, reliant on expression and body movements however. It was needlessly complicated, but he wanted to teach it to me, and I was desperate for validation at the time. Before Snoke.”

Hux felt his throat go dry at the mention of the Supreme Leader, but he nodded for Ren to go on.

“My parents didn’t like when I used the Force to communicate so I thought perhaps utilizing this language would encourage them to try more. It was pathetic,” he said, so quietly Hux had to strain to hear him. “Weak, human emotions, of course. They avoided me because speaking with me was uncomfortable. Han Solo was never a strong supporter of the Force, no matter how often it had saved him. It made him feel vulnerable.”

Hux, on a very primitive level, could understand this, because he experienced it. The Force, which he had to admit existed, something he’d seen Ren use and manipulate and control, and it was something Hux would never be able to touch, to fight.

“They rejected it, though. Neither had the time to learn a new language, and eventually the Pilot was called away for training, and I was alone. No one spoke the language, and before long the Supreme Leader gave me powers and I didn’t need it anymore.”

“Only now you do,” Hux said.

Ren’s eyes narrowed. “I do not.”

“Walking round with a datapad is hardly effective, and if we are ever going to venture out beyond this ship,” the words came out bitter, and Hux resented the datapad could not convey tone. He could only hope his expression did that for him, “we’re going to need another method to communicate.”

Ren stared at him for a long time, his mouth working as though he was trying to speak, then changing his mind. He blinked, then blinked again, too slowly, unnervingly. “Are you asking me to teach you?”

“If you remember enough.”

Ren scoffed once more, as if to say of course he did. As if to say his brain would never forget anything he’d tucked away in it, and Hux had no reason to doubt him. “It’s difficult. Mastering a language is…”

“Cannot be worse than Wookie, or binary,” Hux interrupted. “Cannot be worse than the other seventeen languages I learnt at the Academy. I’m not going to be put off because the work is hard, Ren.”

The Knight licked his lips, then rose. “If you’re insisting…”

“I am,” Hux said, only because he believed Ren needed to feel he was being pressured, begged, even.

“Then we can begin tomorrow. But if you mock me, if you don’t treat this like a proper communication method…”

“I have no reason for any of those things,” Hux cut in.

They locked gazes for long enough that Hux started to feel uncomfortable. A strange itching in his fingers, like he wanted to reach up and stroke the scar across Ren’s face. His body bloomed into a vicious blush, and he was profoundly grateful Ren was still locked away from the Force. He couldn’t imagine the Knight’s reaction to something like that. He was hardly able to understand it himself.

 _You’re just lonely,_ he told himself. _Alone on this gods-forsaken planet with nothing other than this Knight to occupy your time._

It was no lie, though part of his thoughts felt oddly false. But he had plenty to occupy him back on the _Finalizer_ and he was devoid of that now. There was no physical relief at the press of a button. A willing Trooper, or on the occasion Phasma when she was desperate enough—and their desperation often served them both very well indeed. She never asked for a kindness he was unwilling to give, and he appreciated that about her.

But now it was just…

This.

“Tomorrow,” he finally repeated, and Ren gave him a sharp nod before he left. Hux assumed he’d gone out to meditate, and with any luck, the Force powers would return, and Ren could find a way out of this strange, endless cycle.

*** 

Ren was nervous and…something else. An emotion he perhaps had never felt before. It was consuming though, consuming his thoughts as he laid on the floor with Hux in the bed. They traded off nightly, and Ren was used to such discomforts from his training with Snoke that part of him wanted to offer up the bed on a permanent basis. But Hux wouldn’t want it, he had too much pride, and now that he had no men to command, no ship to command, he took it in small ways. Order was necessary for the General, no matter how trapped in the wilderness they were.

Of course neither of them were any closer to figuring out what to do—neither had been brave enough to venture into the village for fear of being recognised. They’d not been there long enough that Hux could disguise his face with a beard or long hair, and Hux’s ginger locks and cold eyes were far too recognisable besides.

Teaching Hux his language, long-dormant in his mind, would give him some sense of purpose. Or at the very least take the edge off his boredom. He could only hunt so often, and his meditation had yielded him nothing. The Force was there, but still beyond his reach and he wasn’t sure why.

Perhaps, however, with this blockage, it was cloaking him from Snoke. He considered—and not for the first time—that perhaps it was self-preservation. If he blocked the Force from himself, Snoke could not crawl into his head and manipulate him.

Manipulate.

It was only with increasing volume that he started referring to his training in such a way, and it had been unconscious, but had started with the damned Pilot.

Poe Dameron.

His fingers unconsciously curled into the shape that had once been Poe’s name in his language. Then he made his own.

Before he had been pushing these reminders away, but Hux would need them, and Ren would need to embrace it once more, as Ben had done when he was desperate for his parents to just give a little. For them to want to learn his own language and not see him as lacking. Different he could accept, but the look of pity in their eyes…

Rage boiled up and he wished he could take his sabre out and destroy a forest, but instead he took several, calming breaths. He wondered had he been forced to live in a situation like this before, maybe he could his reigned in his temper. He knew what a child he’d been. He’d been desperate for vengeance against his parents for their neglect of him. Desperate to show his face so they would _know_ , they had led him down this path themselves.

Of course he’d heard his mother’s thoughts, felt her guilt when he became Kylo Ren. She blamed herself because she had known that instead of dealing with a child like Ben, she had thrown herself into work. As his father had reverted to his own ways.

Even now scavenging the Known Universe in an attempt to avoid them all.

As Luke had done when he fled. Blaming himself.

And Ren had never bothered with pity. What a weak, useless emotion.

It was, perhaps, the sole reason he had not murdered Hux in his sleep—the lack of pity. Why Ren had not murdered him on the _Finalizer_ , because the General had propriety. Hux learnt of Ren’s condition, his inability to hear, and did not pity him. Merely searched for a work-around. Did not see him as less, and was no less frightened of what Ren was capable of if he wanted to be.

Dawn was approaching, and Ren decided to walk and think. Hux could prepare what they had for breakfast, though their supplies were dwindling, and Ren had to think of a way to obtain more without the Force. He could steal—that was easy enough. But they would have to do so without getting caught. Hux would offer himself as a distraction, but if they were followed, they would have the leave the planet and Ren knew they didn’t have enough fuel to go far. This planet was the only acceptable one for them to stay on extended.

So he would have to be careful.

A handful of credits here and there. 

And then what?

Something in the back of his mind suggested they could find work somehow, and as he passed through a thicket, Ren found himself clutching the side of the tree, laughter ripping at his throat at the thought of Hux working a job. 

The mirth was welcome, a lightening to what they were potentially facing, and he knew a serious conversation would have to come soon. But perhaps not until Hux learnt enough to hold one in the Pilot’s language. It would take a long time, for all that Hux was a genius. Ben had only absorbed it so fast because of the Force, and Hux didn’t have that luxury.

So perhaps waiting was out of the question.

Either way, it was time to begin.

Ren helped himself to a fruit-bearing tree on the way, the yellow, sticky meal a welcome change from the bitter meat waiting for him, and he pocketed enough to share with the General. It was strange, these compulsions to do these things. A funny desire welling up in him to see a change in the stoic man’s expression. A light in his eyes, and the rush Ren got from knowing he had put it there.

It had only happened once or twice.

The first in the Refresher when Ren had walked in on him. The high blush in his cheeks, a sudden widening of his eyes with perhaps—desire?

Not that Ren would know.

He had, in fact, mastered chastity and restraint early on. A few sloppy, messy kisses with a few of the Jedi trainees on the island, but soon enough Luke was teaching them to shut it off, shut it down. To become detached and although Ren had never mastered leaving that feeling behind, he had never let it control him.

It would only make sense now that he couldn’t touch the Force, why the temptations were becoming impossible to resist.

Stepping into the ship, he found Hux boiling water for their morning caf. He knew the General wished for tea, and it was possible they could find some in the village once they became brave enough to venture out. Ren would likely do so first, once he ensured Hux would be safe on his own.

He pulled a chair out to sit, and Hux first noticed him, his cheeks rising in the high blush again. Ren fought the urge to lick his lips, instead accepting the plate of mash. He took the opportunity to set the fruit on the table, and Hux raised a brow at it before taking his own seat.

He had the datapad ready, and switched it on. Ren could feel the vibrations of it working in his fingers, and he splayed them out unconsciously, wanting to feel it more. A poor substitute that would be vibrating moans under his hands as he pressed them to Hux’s throat as he…

He shook his head, banishing that line of thinking, and took a bite of the unpleasant meal to re-centre himself.

Ren didn’t look up again until a sharper vibration startled him, and he looked up to see Hux rapping on the table hard with his knuckles. Hux’s eyes flickered upward, and Ren followed with his gaze.

“When do you want to begin?”

Swallowing a mouthful of caf which was not hot enough to banish how bitter it was, he shrugged. “Soon. After we eat and perhaps a shower.”

Hux gave a short nod, then took a piece of the fruit and went outside, leaving Ren alone to this thoughts—the exact place he didn’t want to be. But it would get worse. He would be staring at Hux’s mouth, touching him, manipulating his hands, teaching him how to express with his face. He’d craved it, craved Hux’s openness now that he couldn’t touch his mind and he was going mad with it.

He could feel himself stiffen in his trousers and he took a breath, trying to will it away.

When he finally rose to find the General, he was sat in the middle of a clearing not far from the ship. There was a mist hanging just overhead, keeping the air far more damp than either of them liked. They were used to the unforgiving, harsh, recycled air of ships, and this was…

It was too much nature.

Too much life.

Ren made his way over to Hux and lowered himself to a sit, crossing his legs, and resting his hands on his knees. They made eye contact briefly, and Ren realised there was no datapad here for translations. It would be Hux listening to him, trying to mimic him, without the ability to ask. Ren had felt that way far too many times in his past life as Ben. Sometimes when he tried to shut out the Force and not rely on it, so maybe his parents would stop being so…

It was ugly. Like Ren.

He unconsciously ran the backs of his knuckles along the scar the girl gave him. Rey. Wasn’t it time to start using her name? With her power, her ability to usurp his position at Snoke’s side. Though he doubted she would be seduced. Too much like Luke for all she shared no bloodlines with any of the Skywalkers. Once Ren would have thought that weakness. Now…

Well.

“There’s a lot of nuance to this language, it’s…think of it like a shorthand. Binary is similar in a way you only use the words necessary. Speaking is…tedious,” he said, and licked his lips. He had Hux’s full attention now, the blue eyes locked on him, though in the forest they looked a shade of green like they were reflecting the life from the trees. He felt suddenly exposed, and his hand went to his scar again.

Ugly.

Hux said something, then stopped and shook his head, making a motion for Ren to continue.

“There’s an alphabet. The Universe is too vast for there to be signs for everything, but it’s about…it’s about context.” The words falling from his lips had once been pushed into his head by the young, curly-haired, future Pilot who wanted to be just like his mother, only better. He wanted to prove to people that she was not an anomaly. That he was worthy as she was and he was not broken or less-than because he was different than they were.

On Ren’s homeworld it had been a disability. One only he had.

In Poe’s world, it was simply a way of life and he remembered how vicious his jealousy had been.

He wondered briefly if Poe’s world still existed. Worlds were expendable these days, too easily overcome.

“It will become more natural, the more you use it.” Ren brought up his hands, and signed the last sentence. His fingers were rusty, and he felt naked without gloves, without his mask suddenly because Hux was staring at him. And they did look strange, the pair of them, in their tunic and trousers. Because not three weeks ago they were in a completely different life.

Kylo Ren, he realised, was likely just as dead as Ben Solo and he was adrift.

And yet with Hux’s eyes on him, he didn’t hate it.

Hux, with his expression opening, like he was desperate for more. A man dying of thirst, and Ren was the oasis. His fingers shook as he went on, telling Hux nothing and everything, and not translating—not yet. Just showing him how quickly and gently the language was exchanged.

When he stopped, he noticed Hux was breathing in a sort of hitched way, nothing a layman would have noticed, but Ren did. After all this time with him, of course he noticed.

“What’s your name?”

Hux blinked, then his mouth curved round words and sounds that were beyond Ren, but instead of feeling frustrated, he allowed himself a smile because he was determined that this be the one question Hux learnt to answer that day.

“We’ll begin with the alphabet. And from there, you can spell your name and I’ll understand it.”

Hux’s cheeks pinked, but he nodded and clenched his fists, and rose up onto his knees with the illusion of trying to be more comfortable, but Ren knew the gesture was merely because he wanted to be closer. Ren knew it, because he was feeling the same.

He swallowed, and breathed, and then lifted his hand to begin. 

*** 

‘Name you, what?’

Hux, who had seen the question repeated over and over with words, now recognised the silent sign over the dinner table. He lifted one hand and touched his forehead, swinging two fingers out, then pointed to himself, then curved his right hand into the shapes Ren had spent hours teaching him. ‘Bren Hux.’

A flush of pink crossed Ren’s cheeks, pride Hux hadn’t thought the Knight was capable of. Pride he hadn’t thought he was capable of feeling after spending hours and hours in study, and learning one simple thing. An Alphabet. Something he’d mastered in many languages in half the time and yet…

This. 

This was something new. Beautiful.

 _Like Ren,_ a traitorous voice whispered in his head, and he shoved it away violently. 

He watched as Ren reached over, switching on the datapad to translation mode. They were eating reconstituted stew now that they’d run out of the meat. They had some fresh produce from foraging but Hux wanted something warm and simple, heavy in his stomach.

“Bren. Am I saying that right?” It was the first time Ren had spoken Hux’s name aloud, and it was a little off, the r all but forgotten and the n too heavy, the e too short. But it was nothing short of perfect in Hux’s head.

So he nodded. “Just fine.”

“Your father was Brendol,” Ren replied as he stirred the slop in his bowl. “Is that your name?”

“No,” Hux said. Then he lifted his hand to make the sign as Ren had showed him. They’d mastered the alphabet, a handful of signs—sleep, danger, yes, no, hurry, weapon. Hux was only half sure he’d remember any of them come morning. “He wanted to keep my name like his own, but give me a sense of individuality. Little did he know I would assume the role and title of General, replacing anything of my former identity.”

Ren didn’t answer that, but Hux didn’t need him to. It was obvious Ren knew what that was like, possibly more than Hux did himself.

Before the conversation could carry on, however, there was a crack outside, shaking the entire ship. Thunder, Hux realised, just a second before something hit the ship, and it went dark. Completely dark.

He heard Ren let out a distressed noise, and it took Hux several moments to realise why. Ren solely relied on his sight to navigate, and with the doors closed, they were plunged into absolute darkness. Making a snap decision, Hux rose, stomping his feet in hopes Ren could feel him. He came round the table, hands out, and eventually touched Ren by the…?

Shoulder.

He thought. 

A wandering hand came up, grabbing his almost frantically. He wanted to tell Ren he was going for the doors. It was night, but there would be enough natural light for him to see at least a little. Then it occurred to him, the datapad was on the table and although it was attached to the power core of the ship, it had a battery function.

He prayed the datapad had enough power for it. Keeping hold of Ren with one hand, he leant forward and felt along for it. “Buggering fuck where…?” His voice sounded strange in the silence that was punctuated by nothing more than Ren’s sharp breathing. Eventually, though, he found it, and flicked the battery function on. It flickered, died, but just before Hux could curse his luck, it flared to life.

It cast a shadowy, dim glow across the room, but Hux turned and saw abject relief on Ren’s face. Without the force, he was vulnerable, and Hux was now profoundly, and absolutely aware of it. 

Switching to translation mode, he moved so Ren had full view of the words. “I think lightning struck the ship. Nothing I can’t fix, but I need to check on it. I’ll have to wait until the storm passes.”

Ren nodded, swallowed, then nodded again. “It could…” His voice had a tremor Hux had never heard before. “It could last all night. These storms are few and far between, but vicious. And you’ll not do me or yourself any good if you die by lightning strike.”

Hux couldn’t help his laugh, shaking his head. “Fair. But the datapad is running on battery and it’s going to have to be shut off.” He was hit, suddenly, by how cold the ship would get without their heating system. The nights were frigid and he realised it would be necessary they…

Ren seemed to be thinking along those lines, and he swallowed again. “I’ve slept in smaller quarters. We’ll make it work.”

There was little left to do besides get into the bed. The sooner they slept—though Hux didn’t do much of that these days—the sooner it would be morning and he could fix whatever blasted thing had been knocked out.

He was confident enough in his skills at that, at least. He was far less confident in his ability to keep control under a duvet with Ren. Especially if those thoughts kept surfacing. Like how he wanted to bury himself in those arms. To press his mouth to that pulse point. To run his fingers along the scar on his face. Maybe his tongue.

Fuck.

This was not the time. This was the worst idea he’d ever had, including hesitating and not pushing the button to destroy the planets of the Republic, leaving him fleeing for his life. 

He found himself taking Ren to the bed, holding his hand and guiding them by the light of the datapad which was starting to flicker. He would have to pray they had a fresh charge somewhere—and that perhaps some emergency torches hidden in the ship, because if these storms occurred again, and their ship was hit, he could not do this again.

For now, however, he watched in a sort of muted, anguished silence as Ren slipped beneath the duvet, tucking himself firmly against the wall, giving Hux the most amount of space his long, surprisingly broad body could manage. Hux felt small next to him, which was strange. Then again, out of his uniform, without his ability to command thousands, he felt small anyway.

He was of slight build, which made this easier to manage. Had he been anywhere near Ren’s size, it wouldn’t have worked. They were maybe an inch of height difference, but Hux’s slender frame slipped easily into the space Ren left, and it felt like a universe between them.

The datapad flickered, not dying yet, but dim, and he could fee Ren stiffen against him. Using what was left of the battery, Hux shifted it so it was visible. “I know why this is terrifying for you. But you’re safe.”

Ren let out a derisive snort and scowled, but there was an undercurrent of gratitude there, and when Hux reached out and gripped his shoulder, he wasn’t pushed away. “The storm will pass soon enough.”

“The datapad is going to die,” Hux said, though he felt foolish for saying something so obvious aloud. “If you need me wake me up. We can brave the storm, it’ll be light enough to see there.”

Just then, the datapad flickered, and was gone.

Plunged into darkness, the only noise was the vicious rain overhead, and the occasional thunder Hux could both see and feel. He wondered what it would be like, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, only the feeling of the vibrations under him—and the warm body beside him.

Out of instinct more than desire—though the latter he couldn’t deny even if he wanted to—he shifted over. An arm curled round Ren, and the Knight stiffened before relaxing into it. Maybe, in a way, Hux felt safer this way too. Maybe it wasn’t just for Ren.

Bravely, he lifted his hand, and traced it along the scar he knew was there, and he felt Ren’s silent, but huffing sigh against his wrist. 

“Beautiful,” he said, and felt like a coward for saying it now.

Ren shifted, and then long fingers found Hux’s throat, pushing there uncomfortably, but not dangerously. “Again.”

Hux blinked in the pressing darkness, then nearly laughed before he could bring himself to say it again. “You don’t even know what I’m saying, you fucking fool. But you’re beautiful. I’m supposed to fear for my life, to regret every decision I ever made. I’m stuck on this planet because I am a fucking coward, it’s not just because I want to live. I’m afraid, and I also want you and this is torture.”

Ren’s thumb came up to feel his lips moving, to feel the breath on his skin as Hux ranted. And the General fought back the mad urge to fucking kiss Ren’s hand like he was some sort of…?

What?

He didn’t even have a word for it because he’d never experienced something like this before. Being bent over his work desk, taking Phasma in a quick cupboard with his tongue on her clit and getting off from her moans—it was a control thing. Giving it, taking it—it didn’t matter.

But this.

Oh god.

This.

Ugly. Ugly. Beautiful.

Hux’s eyes closed, realising there was no difference between being asleep and awake now, and he drifted off with the feeling of that puckered scar just under his fingers, and the knowledge that come morning, they wouldn’t speak of it again.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is much shorter than the last chapter--honestly I had at one point just intended to make it a one-shot. But at least there's some resolution. And the next chapter will be more of an epilogue and foreshadow the companion Finn/Poe fic which I'll be starting soon.

By some, absolute miracle, his hands didn’t tremble as he lifted the hood of the cloak up over Hux’s face and stared at the sharp, blue eyes. It shrouded him in a slight shadow, enough just in case they had missed something. He was still clean-shaven, though his hair was longer now, and without his stark, General’s Uniform, he was a different person.

Just as Ren was.

A few times he’d glimpsed himself in the mirror which hung at the back of the Refresher, he’d seen Han there. He didn’t look much like his father, but in these clothes…the way his hair was unkempt and a look of loss and confusion on his face, he could see it. What would Ben’s mother think?

He had almost laughed at the thought.

It had been three weeks exactly since he’d begun teaching Hux the language of the deaf, and though the General was making progress, Ren knew they were trying their skills far too early. They didn’t have much choice in the matter. They needed food—their reserves were nearly empty, and they had no fuel to jump off world, so it was this or nothing.

Hux had laughed—a genuine laugh, making his eyes scrunch up in mirth—when Ren had given his plan. The Nightscowl blood. He’d been draining, preserving, drying, and crushing it. It was a common weapon used amongst scavengers, difficult to cultivate, but he’d seen Solo do it enough times—and he remembered. It would fetch enough money to get them supplies. Not enough for fuel, but Ren wasn’t sure about that anyway. They still had no idea, nowhere to go.

They’d gotten brave enough after the storm, to switch on the communications and connect the datapad to an information link. They scoured the channels for any mention of Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, or General Bren Hux. So far, the only news was that the First Order was in disarray. Mitaka was taking command, though he was doing a piss-poor job, and the Republic had called for the First Order’s surrender.

As far as FN-2187, or Poe Dameron—as far as Leia Organa, or Han Solo—no mention. Just the utter silence, the same as Ren felt from Snoke.

An abyss.

An absence, painful and carved out. Like a festering, gaping wound in his gut.

In the back of his mind, Ren knew what his options were, though they were laughable. Turning himself over to the Resistance would result in Hux being turned over to the Republic, and he would not stand for that. He wasn’t sure why, and he was still too afraid to look into that dark space.

The dark space which now resembled a too-small bed, vibrations under his fingertips, and a hand tracing the length of his scar.

The morning after the storm, Ren had woken long before Hux to find the man’s hand wrapped tightly round his waist. Ren had his face pushed up, tight and snug, against Hux’s neck. He could feel him, smell him, and if he turned his face just so, their lips would meet.

The worst part was, he was so sure Hux’s mouth would open to his, and he would give himself over. Ren might have been chaste most of his life, but he didn’t miss the look of open desire on Hux’s face more than once. Every time Ren reached out to correct one of Hux’s signs, it was there. A darkening of the eyes, a high blush which on Hux’s pale face, there was no way he could hide. The way his lips would part and breath would quicken.

Ren wanted it too. He was no fool, and he was human—for all he had attempted to rip the human side of himself out and burn it to ash.

He didn’t take it, though. He divested himself of the warm arms he desperately craved, and made his way through the too-dark ship, relying on touch alone. He pressed his hands to the doors, feeling for any signs the storm was still raging, and when he was certain it was safe, he opened the hatch and walked out into the misty, light morning.

The fear of being alone in the dark, in the absolute silence, carefully and slowly crept from his bones. He found a clearing, unmindful of the left-over rain, and sat to meditate.

It was how Hux found him hours later, calling him in to eat, and not a word passed between them about that night. He could see, though, the way Hux’s fingers would flex, the muscles in his arm jumping like he wanted to reach out. Maybe to touch the scar again. Maybe to touch more.

Ren found himself craving the feel of Hux’s voice under his fingers the way a starving man craved food, and yet he didn’t give in. He was stronger than this. Beyond this. He would not be weakened by human desires. Not yet.

Hux seemed to feel the same. He was stoic, and determined, allowing himself heated looks and nothing else.

Ren pulled away from Hux’s gaze, nodding at the cloak and feeling confident. Hux grabbed the datapad, his vocabulary coming along slow enough that they still used it on the ship.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea. If we have to fight, we have no escape.”

“We have enough fuel to reach one of the other planets. Tatooine isn’t far. It’s a place I never want to go, but if we must…” Ren trailed off and shrugged one shoulder before reaching for his own cloak. “You’ve never been afraid of your own persuasive skills before, General. I don’t know why you would be now.”

Hux’s cheeks coloured a high red, and he clenched his jaw. His hands curled into fists like he wanted to punch Ren, and the Knight half-wished he would. “I’m unfamiliar with…this. How this works. I was not brought up the child of a pirate.”

Hux looked as though he expected Ren to lash out, but the Knight merely laughed. “This is true. But we’ll have a drink, General, and it should loosen your tongue.”

“Bren,” he corrected. “If we’re going to do this right.”

“Bren.” The name was still unfamiliar on Ren’s tongue. The mechanics of it sloppy and he knew he was saying it wrong, but Hux had never once corrected him. In his mind he’d already created a name in sign for the General, but he would not share it. Not yet.

Ever?

Well, perhaps. But he wasn’t going to let himself think about that now. He watched Hux carefully as he slipped his own cloak on. He had a sudden vision of when he’d dressed this way, as a child with the others Luke was training. He had a vision of Luke’s youth, fighting the Empire cloaked and weaponed.

Ren had his sabre tucked into his belt, behind his back and out of view, but it was the one thing he clung to that connected him to when he called himself a Knight of Ren.

Hux had laughed at him, too, when he’d seen it. “Can you even use that thing if you don’t have the Force?”

Ren had merely glowered at him. “Shall I show you, _General_?”

Hux hadn’t backed down, and Ren felt his defiant look go straight to his groin making him wanting and hateful about it. He supposed his only gratitude was how well the loose trousers and tunic hid the evidence that he wanted far more than he ever should.

They had not come to blows, though, and Ren had stopped himself from destroying what little they did have in this place. The sole requirement to stay undetected for as long as they could was the driving force behind his self-control. It was something he was unfamiliar with.

And there was a voice in his head, far too suspiciously like his father which said simply, _Perhaps, Benny, you’re just growing up._

*** 

Hux was instructed to meet Ren at the tavern in an hour. Hux didn’t have enough of the language to ask what Ren was up to, and even if he did, he didn’t know enough that he’d understand the answer. So he watched as a cloaked Ren wandered off into the small crowd.

It wasn’t that Hux was unfamiliar with scavengers, although he had never deigned to actively socialise with them. The tavern was crowded, a plethora of off-worlders gathering round drinking and making deals. Hux’s language bank was in over-drive as he attempted to translate conversations.

Without credits, he stayed away from the bar, finding a table near the back where he could keep his eye on the door. The hood to his cloak remained pulled up high on his head, keeping his face in the shadows, and he waited.

He wanted to keep his mind fixed on the task at hand, but it was impossible. Every time he blinked, he was ripped back to the storm. To curling round Ren in that bed. The scar under his fingers, the desire barely restrained behind his ribs to close the distance. To change everything.

He’d been half-certain if he’d gone through with it, Ren would have reciprocated. He’d become something new, something beyond the fallen Knight. Something beyond the barely-adult with the unrestrained rage issues. Hux wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t even have himself figured out. To assume he could know Ren—or what Ren had become, who he had become…

It was laughable.

And yet. 

His fingers curled on top of the table, and he pretended like he was running them through Ren’s hair. The thick, black locks with the slight wave, and all he wanted right now was to pin him down and…

Hux’s thoughts were crudely cut off when the door to the tavern swung open and a cloaked figure walked in. Ren’s dark eyes found Hux almost immediately, then he flickered them toward the bar where he ordered a couple of drinks.

Hux rose, making his way through the crowd, and gave Ren a grateful nod when the glass was pushed into his hand. He took a sip, grimacing at the low quality, but it had been so long since he’d had anything at all, it was like the nectar of the gods. He glanced at Ren, then followed Ren’s gaze to a table where a pair of scavengers sat.

‘Ready?’ Ren signed, a quick flick of his fingers.

Hux pursed his lips, but nodded, then let Ren take the lead to the table. He, of course, would be doing all the talking. Ren’s powers were still locked away, he had no way to communicate with these people. Hux was no negotiator, but Ren had done his best to prepare him for the deal.  
They had seven phials of the blood, already cooked, refined, and ground into powder. He was to take no less than six hundred credits. It would be enough to sustain them for a while. Until they…figured something out. Or until they were caught. He had no intentions of assuming that at some point, their faces wouldn’t be blasted across the universe.

But for now, this was what they had. So he took the seat next to Ren, nodded to him, and began.

*** 

It should have fallen apart. Everything had so far. Everything had been a complete nightmare from the moment Ren couldn’t lift that sabre and push it through his father’s chest. He watched Hux’s lips curve round words he’d instructed him to say. He watched as the two scavengers tried to talk him down, but Hux was unmoving.

The stoic glower, the firm jaw, cold eyes. It was shifting something in Ren, and he wanted to abandon their mission, and drag Hux to a quiet corner and claim that mouth as his own. 

But he knew better. He knew so much better. 

Hux wanted him, of course. Ren was no fool, he could feel it. He’d been feeling it since they set foot on this forsaken planet. But he could not do that to Hux. Ren was damned—he had known that the moment he let Snoke inside. Perhaps, even, he’d been damned from birth. The Skywalker curse running through his veins like blood, tainting everyone he had ever attempted to love.

His mother and father—who ended in misery—together but never really together.

Luke—and yes Ren had loved him once as Ben. Unable to give in to the rules that Jedi should feel no attachments. Luke had been there when his parents weren’t. Luke had taught him to control his power, to use it to understand and communicate and connect.

And Poe. The blasted Pilot who had given Ben a language which Ren still clung to. Poe with his soft eyes and careful fingers, ever present and patient smile. Ren wanted to hate him, but he no longer had the energy for hate.

He was tired.

He was lonely.

He wanted it to be over.

So he would not give in. There was still hope for Hux. Blood was on his hands, but not in the same manner that it tainted Ren, and Ren couldn’t cross that line. As much as he wanted. As much as he craved.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the exchange happened. The credits were in their possession, and the two scavengers were walking away with their new weapon. Ren supposed he ought to feel bad for those who would become the victims of the blood, but when it meant he and Hux could live in peace for just a little while longer, he couldn’t.

He would take that time to be as selfish as he could before it all came crashing down.

Ren startled when he felt warmth on his thigh, his eyes darting down to Hux’ pale fingers gripping his leg. He looked up, and Hux had a hand raised. ‘Ready?’

Though they had been at this for weeks, Ren still felt a thrill running up his spine every time Hux’s finger curved into his language, drawing Ren out of the absolute silence he was trapped. He nodded, tugging his hood up further, and the two rose and made their way out of the tavern.

As they came round the corner, Ren held up his hand for Hux to stop. He tapped his fingers and thumb to his lips. ‘Food.’ He then nodded toward the market stalls, and Hux gave a sharp nod of agreement. They could restock fuel, food, and necessities.

“I’m going to get clothing,” Ren said, grabbing Hux’s arm. “Do you feel safe enough to separate and meet back at the ship?”

Hux’s jaw tensed, but he nodded and waved Ren off, not looking back as he made his way toward the meat vendors. Ren felt his stomach twist with want, with the desire to be selfish and just take. But he wouldn’t.

He wasn’t trying to be a better person. He wasn’t foolish enough to think there was redemption for him—that he deserved any sort of happiness at the end. But he was still human, somewhere deep down inside of him. He still wanted things. His ego existed, craving and begging.

But he wouldn’t give in.

*** 

Their first proper cooked meal tasted like the best thing either of them had ever had. It was simple meat and veg, and a small cake Hux had added which surprised Ren who blurted, “I didn’t take you for a sweets person.”

Hux stared at his hands, frowning, because he didn’t have the signs to respond. After a moment he sighed and gave in, switching on the translator. “I like to indulge from time to time. And I think this time we earnt it a bit.”

Ren put a bite into his mouth, then raised his hands and flickered them through the signs. “That’s what you just said,” he clarified.

Hux attempted to mimic them, to pick it apart through the syntax Ren had been teaching him. It was not unlike other languages, a grammar structure that made sense once it was broken down for him to understand. After several tries, he got it right, and attempted to file it away for later use.

When their meal was over, Ren excused himself outside for his evening walk, and Hux went into the Refresher, determined to wash the long day off his skin. The hot water was necessary, and it tasted sweeter almost, being fresh from the atmosphere instead of recycled in space. He stood under the stream as long as he could, head tipped back, eyes closed.

Eventually his fingers wrinkled and skin ached a bit from the heat, and he stepped out. With a towel draped round his waist, Hux moved into the main room and began to dig through the clothing Ren picked up. He’d kept it simple, comfortable, though everything fit better than what they’d borrowed from the ship. The clean clothes felt good on his freshly washed skin, and he was just towelling off his hair when the door slid open and Ren entered.

He froze, his dark eyes fixed on Hux, a faint blush to his pale cheeks which somehow managed to set off the scar, making it look more pronounced than it normally did. Hux’s fingers tingled with the desire to touch, to caress it before claiming Ren’s mouth with his own, and he shoved the thought aside.

“It’s cold out,” Ren said after a moment. “There’s another storm coming. A large one.”

Hux walked over to their supply cabinet, pulling out a handful of the emergency torches. For all that he swore he shouldn’t care if Ren was frightened or unsafe, he did. And he hadn’t wanted a repeat of before. 

Ren stared at the supplies, then tipped his fingers from his chin. ‘Thank you.’

Hux brushed him off, then pointed at the Refresher. ‘Shower.’

Ren pulled a face, but took the towel from around Hux’s neck, then gathered his own clothes and went in. Hux determinedly kept his gaze anywhere but at the door where steam began to flow out, and he did anything but count the minutes before Ren exited.

Just as the shower turned off, however, there was a rumble in the distance. Hux’s arm hair stood on end, and not moments later, the ship was hit again. Hux immediately fumbled for the torch, hearing a small cry from Ren, and he hurried into the Refresher to find the fallen Knight clutching his arm.

He’d been shaving, apparently, and was now dripping blood all over the floor from a rather impressive gash. Hux waved at him, then took his hand and pulled him out into the darkened ship. Setting him on the bed, he handed off the lit torch, grabbing a second, and found the medi-kit.

Pressing several pieces of gauze to the wound, he held fast until the bleeding slowed, then he pulled out the bacta-ointment and smeared a hefty dollop over the wound. Hux refused to look up, refused to meet Ren’s eyes as he wrapped the wound, then sat back on his heels.

‘Hurt?’ he signed, struggling to remember other words. ‘More?’

Ren shook his head. “No. Just the arm.” He repeated himself in sign for Hux’s benefit, then glanced round. “Out of power?”

‘HIT ship,’ he said, using letters and sign, hoping he was making some sense. ‘Cold.’

Ren nodded, and it was obvious they would be bed-sharing once more. It was almost comical in a way, Hux thought. It was like the universe was purposefully attempting to throw them together, making it impossible to resist the desires and temptations.

As it was, as Hux was sliding under the covers, he was having a hard time remembering why he was resisting. Why he was denying himself this thing he wanted so immensely, he would set the universe ablaze to have it. His throat felt thick as Ren settled in, pulling blankets up to their chest.

It was less terrifying than before. They could see each other, they could communicate. And yet Hux found himself reaching over, clinging, tugging Ren closer. And the Knight did not resist him. He came easily, rolling to his side, their gazes locking and suddenly a warm hand found his.

Hux’s head was spinning and something was screaming in the back of his mind telling him to do it, to kiss him, to take him and claim him. Instead he rolled forward, buried his face into Ren’s neck, and breathed softly. Ren’s arm shifted, gave a slight spasm, then pulled Hux closer and held him.

Eventually the torches went out, and the darkness surrounded them, and they held each other through the night.

*** 

When Ren woke the next morning, his desire to flee as he had before was gone. Instead he had a fierce craving to tuck this man closer, to brush his lips across the back of the naked neck. So he did. He knew he was cursed—there was no way to deny it. And yet…he wanted.

And Hux wanted him.

Ren let his arms come around the body of the General tighter, pulling him closer. He buried his nose in the light, ginger hair, smelling the stale soap from the ship. The locks were soft against his cheeks, and he nosed through them before brushing his mouth against the exposed skin.

After a moment, Ren felt something shift under his fingers. A vibration coming from Hux’s chest. Was he speaking? Moaning? Not for the first time, Ren felt a desperation to sneak into his head, to know what was pouring from those lips.

But that was hidden from him now. That was beyond his reach.

But Hux was responding. Hux was within his reach and turning and his thin, pale fingers were coming up to touch Ren’s scar again. It sent a searing heat right through him, and he felt something, some noise, tearing out of his throat. Hux’s other hand went to Ren’s neck, pressing lightly. Feeling the noise the same way Ren felt it, and he did it again.

Hux’s mouth twitched, then his fingers as they drifted down and fisted into the front of Ren’s tunic. Their gazes were locked, daring each other, begging.

Did Ren dare? Did he dare put Hux’s future and happiness in danger? The way Anakin had done to Padme? The way Han and Leia had done to each other?

But perhaps they were already damned. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

Hux’ fingers trailed upward, over his skin, into Ren’s hair. His fingertips snagged in a few places, but he kept going, and Ren kept pushing forward until he couldn’t tell where he began, and Hux ended. His tongue darted out, running along his bottom lip, and Hux’s eyes darkened.

Ren knew this was it. There was no turning back.

“I want you,” he felt himself say, the words tearing at his throat like razorblades.

Hux’ breath hitched, Ren could feel it against his palm, against his face. Then Hux tightened his grip and his mouth moved with words Ren found he did understand. “Have me.”

It was all that they needed, all that it took.

Surging forward, Ren’s lips crashed against Hux, feeling the moans beneath his hand, feeling the lips part under his. Ren dominated the kiss, their tongues sliding together, slick and hot and soft, but hard and needy all the same. Hux moaned into him, Ren able to feel it against his chest, against his teeth, and he kissed him harder.

Bruising.

Hux’s hands began to wander, tugging at clothes, almost violent in the way that he removed Ren’s tunic and trousers. His own soon followed, and too-hot skin began to slide together as they panted into each other’s mouths.

Ren had no real idea what he was doing. All he knew was he wanted this—all of it, more, everything, please _please_.

And Hux was giving everything he had. His fingers expertly working them together, a delicious slide of skin and friction and Ren felt himself growling and begging, words he didn’t even know spilling from his lips, and from the tips of his fingers as he signed against Hux’s back tugging him closer for more.

His hips moved of their own accord, seeking more friction, seeking something harder because he could feel his orgasm cresting and almost vicious in the desire for release. Then he did. It hit him like a volcanic eruption, and the cry leaving his mouth was so loud he could feel it all the way down to his toes.

Hux followed soon after, his own cry breathy across Ren’s shoulder, and hands going almost too tight around them, and there was a hot, wet, sticky mess now pooled against their skin.

Ren’s head came back to him slowly, and he was terrified to look up. Terrified what this might mean, or how to move forward. He didn’t know how to love, or to want. Not really, not properly. And Hux was…

Ren wasn’t sure. He didn’t know that Hux could give him this thing—what he was craving. The thing he didn’t have words or signs for. But then a hand was at his cheek and drawing his gaze up. Hux’s pupils were blown wide, his cheeks splotchy, his mouth slightly open as he tried to catch his breath.

But he was imploring, asking without words or signs if Ren was alright, and it caused something warm and wonderful to burst apart in his chest because this was for him. This was for him and no one else and he would be damned if anyone in the Known Universe would take it.

He surged forward again, unmindful of the sticky fluid now going cold between them, and he kissed Hux. Kissed him lacking that desperation, but pouring something else into it. Something more.

And then…

_Oh fuck yes, god, Ren. Need want have love love love love._

The stream of consciousness in the voice so familiar now to Ren which was pouring into him because Ren was inside him. Inside Hux’s head as he claimed the General’s mouth. Whatever this was, they’d connected and the Force came ripping back so fast, so intense, a mirror in the Refresher shattered. Ren could feel the pieces hitting the floor just as Hux startled and jumped back from the noise.

Ren blinked, the terror returning, but his powers didn’t abandon him. They felt oddly empty, he felt oddly alone in the vastness that was the Force itself. Where Snoke had been, occupying far too many corners of his mind, now was blackness.

He was alone.

And yet he was not. And yet…

Hux pressed his hand over Ren’s heart, feeling the beat of it. _Can you hear me?_

The thought was projected with too much force, and Ren had been without it for too long, that he let out a small cry and winced, his fingers flying up as though to block it out. After a second, he breathed and nodded. “Yes.”

Hux hesitated, and Ren could feel his desire to pull away, and his desire to stay warring each other. He didn’t wait round to see which would dominate. He pulled Hux close to him, firm and tight, refusing to let go.

Perhaps if they were already damned, they could find a way out of this together.

As Ren held him fast, Hux relaxed gently, and it was then Ren knew, if there had been any hope of staying apart—it was long gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short epilogue chapter. The plot will continue and expand in the next fic I write which will feature both Hux and Ren, along with Finn and Poe, and the rest of the Resistence.

Ren returned with fuel, clutched in his gloved hands, and a triumphant look on his face. Hux was still confused, and far too nervous to join Ren in his celebration over regaining his powers. What did it mean? And would they be vulnerable now. Snoke was still out there as far as he knew, and they were still wanted for crimes committed against the Republic.

But they had fuel, and Ren had a way of protecting them and getting what they wanted now that he could connect with the Force, and apart from the initial terror that Snoke might send someone after them, or at worst—take over Ren’s mind—it meant they could leave this forsaken planet and that was something Hux was looking forward to.

Though he wasn’t sure where they could go.

He watched as Ren checked over the ship, refuelling it, saving what they weren’t using. They had stocked their supplies well enough, and still possessed plenty of credits that likely they wouldn’t need now that Ren could mind-control almost anyone they came across.

But they still had no plan, and Hux’s mind kept straying to Ren’s hands on him, their lips together, feeling wrecked and torn apart and kiss-bruised. Ren hadn’t made a single mention of it since the following morning, and Hux felt flayed raw by the apparent rejection.

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, not sure what he meant to say, or what they meant to do. Ren glanced over at him, his face twisted with impatience. Then he lifted his hand and signed, ‘What?’

Hux was startled by the sign, startled he’d still use it instead of just diving straight into his mind and pulling out what he needed to know. He didn’t have the words on his fingers to tell Ren exactly what he meant to, but he did his best.

‘What you do?’

“I’m fuelling the ship so we can get out of here,” Ren said, his voice heavy with frustration. “What the hell does it look like? And do you really plan on sitting there all day as I do the hard work?”

Hux nearly laughed at that one, only because no matter what they’d been through and what lie ahead of them, he was still a petulant child at heart. He pushed himself up from the table and took several steps toward the Knight. ‘Why?’

“Why what?” Then he signed it for good measure.

‘Why leave?’ Hux signed, not entirely sure he’d got them right, but fairly confident when he saw Ren’s eyes narrowed.

His hands raised then, and he flicked them through signs so complex and rapid, Hux hadn’t a prayer of following. He expected Ren to speak after that, but instead the Knight turned his back and stormed off, back outside.

Unsure what his strop was about, or why he’d reacted almost violently, Hux sank back into the seat and put his face in his hands. Perhaps what they’d done had given Ren his powers back, perhaps it was for the best. But he couldn’t be sure of it. If they flew, they could be heading straight toward their enemy. Hux did not want to be executed for those crimes. He would not be a scape goat for the First Order—those bastards never cared about him, and he’d been a fool to think they might have.

He had inititally trusted that Ren would protect him, that Ren wanted to protect him. And now, he was not so sure.

*** 

Ren went into the woods, fighting off the urge to draw his sabre and cut trees to dust. But it wouldn’t solve anything, and he knew it. Hux’s hesitation to leave this hideous planet was grating on his nerves, as was Hux’s sudden insecurity that it had all changed, that none of it mattered.

How could he not see that Hux—Hux was the reason that the Force had returned. Hux was the reason Ren could take on the galaxy if he wished it, and rule. He didn’t, however. He had no desire for power anymore. He had a desire for silence—the true silence. To have his head free and empty of Snoke, of his Grandfather, of his past whispering things to him and making him feel…

Inadequate.

Useless.

Pointless.

Ren curled his hands into fists and closed his eyes, breathing in. He could feel the Force again, the power pushing information into his brain from all round him. Now he knew what animals lurked nearby, knew their sounds even if he’d never heard them. He could feel the pulsing beat of Hux’s heart, still in the ship, still doubting.

Part of him wanted to hit the General until he understood.

Part of him wanted to kiss the General until he saw reason, until he was so consumed with Ren that there was no other option for him but to be with Ren until they finally took their last breath.

Was this love?

He nearly laughed at the thought. It was certainly not love like his parents shared. Not love like they claimed to have for him. The all-consuming desire to just be with Hux, to become part of him. To replace that empty, cavernous space where Snoke once sat, with the chilly eyes, and full mouth of General Hux.

Ren went hot with desire, and wondered how well advances would be received. He knew Hux felt rejected by his lack of it earlier, but he was on a mission to get them prepared. To carve out their own space in the Universe somewhere that wasn’t a planet full of beasts and scavengers.

To do that, Ren had to know the threat was eliminated though. And that was his first problem. They had to know the First Order was on their way down, that Snoke could no longer get to them, and that when it was over, it was truly over.

He had no way to guarantee that. At least not without making some contact with his parents, and that terrified him more than anything. He wasn’t sure he could look either of them in the face again. And he knew he’d been replaced by the girl, and he supposed in a way he didn’t mind. There was no bother or point to her. She was strong with the Force, possibly stronger than him. She would make the perfect Padawan for Luke—something he knew he could have never been. Not when he was so different.

But to get them to agree to speak, to communicate with him without trying to take them in…

His mother was a warrior. He knew this. She was relentless.

He recalled how she’d dealt when her father’s identity was revealed in the senate. She’d kept the music box, too. He’d happened upon it as a young boy, unable to read the lips or hear the words that Bail Organa had spoken to his daughter. But whatever they were, they’d made her cry when she’d found him looking at it.

It was a mixture of sadness for losing her father, and a sort of mourning when she realised she couldn’t share it with her son as he would never hear it, and she had no way to communicate with him exactly what was being said. At least, not in the way he should have known it.

Ren briefly wondered if his mother still kept the box.

But this was no time to look down Ben’s past. This was a moment of action.

It was decided.

*** 

Hux was changing when there was a sudden presence behind him, but he didn’t turn. He froze, instead, when a warm palm flowed down his back like water. His spine arched into it as lips descended against the back of his neck. Ren’s other arm came round his front, hand splayed out on his torso to feel the moans, and Hux let them loose as Ren’s knee wrenched his legs apart, and pushed up. Just enough pressure to feel it, just short of painful.

Hux leant back into the grasp, the immediate relief that Ren still wanted him so palpable, it brought tears to his eyes. He felt weak and foolish, but he knew love did this to people. It had done it to his mother—that had been her undoing. Perhaps to his father, though he would never be sure of that. He hadn’t known them long enough, really, to know if they’d been taken apart the way he was now.

He was turned after a moment, crowded back against the wall. The edge of the uniform cabinet dug into his side, but he didn’t care. Ren’s lips were all over, kissing every inch of skin exposed, and Hux tipped his head back and let himself be consumed.

He wanted this, all of it. Wanted Ren to take him so deep, so close, that they merged as one person. A ridiculous, too-romantic thought that should have made him feel ill, but instead just made him all the more desperate. He reached up with nearly trembling hands and cupped Ren’s face, his thumbs brushing along the cheeks. He felt the scarring under the pad of his fingers, and then he tilted his head to be kissed.

And oh he was kissed. Warm, needy, perfect. Ren’s tongue was hot and wet, probing his mouth as his fingers went lower to undo the fastenings on his breeches. They hit the floor and Hux hissed as the wall behind him was suddenly so cold. The contrast to Ren’s searing body was enough to make his head spin, and a loud moan ripped out of his throat as he wrapped his legs round Ren’s waist, and allowed himself to be carried to the small bed.

Ren was inside him not long after, hovering over him, one hand on the side of his throat feeling every hiss and ever gasp Ren ripped out of him. His lips were too dry, his eyes filled with tears, and he arched and pushed back.

“Yes, yes,” Ren muttered. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes I…yes,” Hux groaned, turning his head just slightly. “Please.”

Ren didn’t hold back, and soon enough they were both growling out against their climax, feeling every single second of it deeper than either of them ever had. 

When it was over, Ren slumped to the side and Hux half-expected him to get up and leave again, but he stayed. One hand spread out over Hux’s thumping heart. “We must leave.”

Hux shifted so he could look at him, trying and failing to read what was in his eyes. “Why?”

Ren lifted a hand, tracing it round Hux’s mouth, along his lower lip before kissing the path his finger took. When he pulled away, he lifted up slightly. “We’ll never be free, unless we create our own freedom. There is only one option, and I think you know what it is.”

Hux lifted his hands very carefully. ‘Your family.’

Ren looked sombre, but he nodded. “They can kill us, or save us. But I’m through running. Snoke must be destroyed, and the First Order must fall. Unless you wish to return I…”

“No,” Hux said sharply, then shook his head. He had not nearly enough signs to make himself understood, so he merely hoped Ren could feel exactly why he would not return to the First Order.

“Then we must go.”

Hux stared at him, but as Ren moved to pull away, Hux grabbed him and pulled him close. He reached up and took Ren’s hand, pressing it to his temple. “Please,” he begged when Ren frowned. “I don’t have the signs, and I want to learn but I need you to understand.”

Ren closed his eyes and let the force seep into Hux’s head, to hear him as he used to do when he was a child.

_Promise me that if we do this, it’s together. You won’t abandon me. I will not be a scapegoat for…this._

Ren pulled away gently and let his hand trail down to Hux’s bare chest. “I will never leave you. If I have to burn down every world in order to save us, that’s what I will do. But just know, we’re together now. And nothing can take that away.”


End file.
